Porcelain
by Maddie Rose
Summary: She is a spoilt Capitolian. He is a broken Victor. Seeing a potential sponsor, Finnick goes about seducing her for the sake of his tributes. Yet she proves to be quite the challenge. Could he ever care for the daughter of a Head Gamemaker, of someone who ruined his life? Finnick/OC
1. Promotions

**Chapter One: Promotions**

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**A/N: So yes, this is going to be another Finnick/OC...I've had this idea revolving in my head for a while now and now I've planned a bit I thought I might post the first chapter. ****I know that I've still got Leave The Soul Alone going, which is why I'll probably only keep going with this if people are interested :)**

**You might think that you've seen this idea before, but trust me, I have a lot of surprises in Miri's story for all of you. This story will begin in the 72nd Hunger Games and go through the 74th - the sequel, Ivory, will take place during the Quarter Quell, and the final story, Steel, will be set during Mockingjay.**

**So please, leave a review letting me know what you think!**

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The first Hunger Games that Mirinda could actually remember were the 62nd. She had been six years old at the time, and the only reason she thought she could recall every last detail was because of the Victor. The dark-haired girl from 2, whose victory still burned sharp in her mind. How was a child of such a young and impressionable age meant to forget sharp teeth piercing another tribute's throat, blood pouring from the punctures?

Her dad had wanted to Miri to cover her eyes, but she had ever been the curious child. In fact, the more people told her _not_ to do things, the more she was drawn to the temptation of the forbidden. Besides, her grandfather had been responsible for those Games. He had been the Head Gamemaker starting that year, and the 62nd Hunger Games had been a marvellous success.

It was no secret to anyone in the Capitol that Obadiah had lot of influence. He was very good friends with the President himself, and hosted several more of the Games. The 63rd and 64th, won by a brother and sister from District 1. Then there was the 65th Hunger Games – Obadiah's last year of being Head Gamemaker. Miri had been nine by then, too young at that age to appreciate the beauty of the Victor that was fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair.

Miri was not very close with her grandfather. He was a stern man, with grey eyebrows that always reminded her of fluffy caterpillars as a child. He was not affectionate. She couldn't remember him holding her or playing with her. Always the important man, her grandfather Obadiah. Even after he retired gracefully from the position as Head Gamemaker after the 65th Hunger Games, Miri still referred to him as 'sir'.

Miri never remembered her mother. Everyone told her that her name had been Lindy, that she had died in childbirth with Miri. So she had sought out wedding holographs, any sort of indication that her mother had actually existed. But of course she had, for why would everyone be lying to her? How would Miri ever exist if Lindy did not? So she gave up searching – for the time being.

Some of Miri's friends talked about having nightmares about the Games, as if they were in them. Miri never did. She was safe and protected in the Capitol. It was ridiculous to think she would ever be a part of them, to do more than observe on a screen what occurred. Her family was involved in Gamemaking, but that was the closest they would ever get to the arena.

What Miri didn't expect was to ever befriend let alone fall for a Victor. What Miri didn't realise was that the higher her family climbed, the harder they would fall.

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"Are you sure about this?" Lilah asked as Miri sauntered confidently into the nightclub. She followed at a much more hesitant pace, brushing her electric-blue bangs out of her eyes. Miri flashed a grin over her shoulder at her reluctant friend. Normally Lilah was the life of the party, but it didn't seem like she was comfortable bluffing their way into a local nightclub.

"Don't be a wimp, Lilah." Miri ran a hand through her hair. Naturally it was a pale blonde, and she didn't like dyeing it for fear it might never go back to its normal colour. However, Miri did have pink streaks weaved into her silky hair, swinging down her back as she crossed determinedly over towards the bar. Lilah grabbed her arm, tugging her back.

"Miri, wait. We could get in _so_ much trouble. We're sixteen."

The bright fluorescent lights and the pulsating rhythm of the music seemed to work a spell over Miri, making her feel alive. She knew that she shouldn't be here, but what was her other option? Being holed up in her apartment? It was the risk-taking that made her heart race.

"No one knows that." Miri frowned, examining Lilah closely. It was just heading out to a nightclub, perhaps something a little riskier than their usual ventures but she would have thought her best friends would appreciate the daring in it. "What's up with you tonight? Is something going on with you and Khalos?"

"He's just being weird." Lilah nibbled at her lip as she thought of her boyfriend. "Look, what the hell. We're here to have fun, right? So let's go have fun."

"That's what I like to hear!" Miri exclaimed approvingly, but before she could reach the bar, her path was blocked by one the bouncers. Lilah instinctively stepped behind her and Miri swallowed.

"Can I please see your identification, girls?"

"Oh, shoot." Miri pretended to check her purse, her tone falsely chirpy. Her heart was hammering in her chest but she was determined to play it casual. If she acted like an adult, she would seem like an adult. "I must have left it behind. But it's okay. Olivier cleared us, you can ask him."

"No need."

Miri groaned as Bentley Fraser stepped away from the bar, a martini in his hand as he inspected her with disdainful amber eyes. Of course he just had to be here. Bentley seemed to be everywhere, watching her every move. He knew her all too well – and she had the distinct feeling that he'd seen her and alerted the bouncer to her being underage. Miri clenched her hands into fists as Bentley swaggered over, eyebrows raised.

"Lilah, security will see to it that you have a ride home. Miri, Seneca wants to speak with you."

_Oh shit._ It looked like her plan had been completely busted. If Seneca Crane had known that she was going to put it into action, Miri knew things were only going to get worse from here. Lilah looked over her shoulder as the bouncer escorted her out, a pitying look across her face. No matter how much trouble she was in, she knew Miri was in ten times more.

"Where is he?" Miri inquired, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

"Outside in a limo." Bentley, Seneca's secretary/stalker for hire, kept a firm grip on Miri's elbow as he led her from the club. She didn't meet anyone's eyes, trying not to fume about how embarrassing this all was. She was definitely going to have some things to say to Seneca about discretion.

The air outside was cool, and Miri immediately wished she'd brought a jacket. She rubbed her bare arms, heels clicking down the pavement as she followed Bentley towards a stretch limo parked just outside the nightclub. It looked as though Seneca had known her plan from the very start. Miri grimaced inwardly, steeling herself as Bentley opened the door to the limo.

Miri slid inside, smacking the disco ball irritably away from her head as she shifted across the leather seat. Seneca Crane sat opposite her, swilling a cocktail. She felt a surge of agitation. Why was everyone allowed drinks apart from her? Yeah, she was sixteen, but it wasn't as though she planned to get drunk. She just wanted the _one._

"So?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Watch your tone." Seneca set the cocktail down. "You should know better than this, Mirinda. You're not even seventeen yet. If I catch you in another nightclub…"

"You'll do what, have President Snow arrest me?" Miri asked sarcastically, before adding on a sugar-sweet: "Sir."

Outside the limo, the lights of the Capitol, the nightlife, beckoned her. Miri was so frustrated of being too young for everything, always getting into trouble for doing things because she was still classified as a _child._Scowling, Miri angrily ripped the pink streaks from her hair, knowing that Seneca was watching her intently.

"This behaviour will stop." Seneca's tone was firm, and Miri couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I might not be the police, but I have authority over to you. This recklessness is not good for you. You might think you are all grown up, but you aren't an adult yet, Mirinda."

Sometimes, it felt like she was meant to be an adult. All the galas and balls and charity functions she was forced into attending…she didn't do them for herself. She did it because it was expected of her. It was easy enough to force smiles and make conversation for the first two hours, but after that, Miri found herself craving the company of her friends. No, she wasn't yet an adult. But it was confusing when sometimes she was meant to be, and other times, she was meant to adhere to the often derogatory title of 'child'.

"There's something important you need to know." Seneca paused, a slight smile tweaking his lips and making his ridiculous beard twitch. How it was seen as the height of fashion, Miri had no clue. "I will be the Head Gamemaker for the 72nd Hunger Games."

Miri couldn't say that she was overly surprised. Seneca Crane was known to be hardworking and had climbed the rungs of power over the past few years to be where he was today. The promotion to Head Gamemaker had only been a matter of time. Miri wasn't quite sure whether to congratulate him on the achievement, or remain sullen at her scolding.

"You are going to be watched closely by the Capitol during the Games, so you need to behave." Seneca leaned back in the seat, the leather creaking and shifting beneath his suit pants and dress shirt. "Is that clear?"

"Yes," Miri stated, biting back an automatic 'sir', "Yes…Dad."


	2. Party Fever

**Chapter Two: Party Fever**

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** A/N: Holy crap! 19 reviews, 19 favourites and 37 follows for just one chapter. You guys really do amaze me and I'm so glad you responded so well to the first chapter of Porcelain.**

**To any that may have been concerned with this story being similar to Evanescence853's "Of Vanity and Corruption" - we have discussed our stories together at length and you can be assured that we both have very different directions. She is an amazing author and I completely respect her and adore her story, so there is no way that I would copy it. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I know there isn't too much interaction with Finnick just yet, but you can be certain that there will be a lot more of him to come.**

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Miri thought that social gatherings in their apartment evoked the kind of dread that potential tributes must feel on Reaping day. It was only around twenty people, but they were all such high-ranking members of Capitolian society that Seneca had spent most of the afternoon reminding her to behave. Miri's dress was reminiscent of a peacock, all striking bright colours and bold patterns. She even had several feathers embedded throughout her hair – feather braids were, of course, one of the latest trends.

The gathering had started at seven o'clock sharp, with waiters around the apartment serving champagne and appetizers. It was now nearly eight-thirty, but Miri was still to breathe a sigh of relief at the absence of her grandfather, the infamous Obadiah Crane. There was no doubt in her mind that the former Head Gamemaker would arrive to congratulate his son of achieving the same title. Seneca of course was strutting proudly about the apartment, soaking in compliments like a sponge. Miri thought that tonight, it was her dad who was the real peacock.

"Oh, Miri, just look at you!" An emerald-haired woman practically shrieked, almost bowling Miri off her feet in her enthusiasm to swoop in and kiss both of her cheeks. Miri forced a smile, wishing she could be off with her friends rather than here with her father's boring friends and co-workers. "You are so grown up, how old are you now?"

"Sixteen," Miri replied. It was one of those horrible moments where the woman was likely a figure from her childhood, expecting to be recognised despite the fact that Miri had probably been a young child when they had been introduced. "I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten your name."

"Andromeda Silk." The woman looked quite shocked, as if she had not expected that Miri wouldn't remember who she was. "Miri, darling, you remember me from when you were a little girl, don't you?"

"Of course," Miri lied. _You need to behave. You need to behave._ Her dad's words rang through her head like alarm bells. She suddenly noticed that everything had gone quiet, the cheery chatter dying down into a low murmur. Miri knew what it meant. Drawing her shoulders back and turning slowly, she was not at all surprised to see her grandfather walking in through the doorway.

"Congratulations, son." Obadiah crossed over to Seneca, pulling the younger man into a masculine embrace and clapping him heartily on the back. "You've made me very proud."

Miri glanced around for the waiters, knowing that she would be needing all the champagne she could get her hands on now that Obadiah was present. Although he greatly approved of Seneca's latest achievements, Miri's recent antics had been…not entirely noteworthy. Swiping a champagne from a stunned waiter, Miri took a deep gulp. It tasted disgusting. She took another sip.

"Mirinda."

She spun around, just managing to refrain from sloshing the champagne over her expensive dress. Obadiah seemed to have an unpleasant habit of popping up near her without her noticing. Her grandfather had looked upbeat and proud in Seneca's presence, but now contempt was written in the stern lines of his face, his mouth downturned in what seemed to be a permanent frown whenever he was around her. His disdainful expression turned to the champagne in her hand.

"Aren't you a bit young to be drinking, my dear?"

"I'm just having the one, sir," Miri murmured. She didn't know why she was so cowed by Obadiah's presence, but she was not the only one. Everyone in the Capitol respected Obadiah Crane, especially considering he was a personal friend to President Snow. Miri had met the President on only two occasions. He was the sort of man who unnerved her, although she could not have said why.

"I am slightly surprised you aren't out partying with your…friends." Obadiah's tone was dripping with distaste, and Miri resisted the urge to glower. She would rather be with her friends as well, but she was here for a reason.

"It's a daughter's duty to show support for her father, isn't it?"

Obadiah's lips curved upwards into a mirthless smile. "That it is. I am glad that Seneca appears to have taught you something, at least."

"Indeed he has." Miri noted, not for the first time, that her relationship with her grandfather was a very odd one indeed. It felt more like they were rivals, forcing politeness for Seneca's sake, rather than blood relatives. Noting that Obadiah's sharp gaze was upon her, Miri tilted her head back and finished her glass of champagne. It left a burning sensation in her throat, but it was worth it for the disapproval that clouded his eyes.

"You are growing bold, Mirinda."

"No, sir," Miri replied with some glee, taking another glass of champagne from a waiter. "I am growing tipsy."

Obadiah's face tightened with anger, before he turned on his heel and strode away from her. Miri suppressed her smile by taking a sip of her new glass of champagne. Her intention wasn't always to antagonise her grandfather – but when he seemed to stare down at her in disapproval no matter what she did, it seemed much easier to behave scandalously and earn his contempt than clamour for his good graces.

Miri watched as her grandfather led Seneca aside into the conference room, taking care to close the doors behind them. She frowned, wondering what business Obadiah had with Seneca in private. She was too curious for her own good most of the time – and the alcohol had given her boldness. Finishing off her current glass of champagne, Miri set it down and headed for the conference room. She took some more champagne from a waiter, and hesitated before deciding on some cheese and crackers as well. It wouldn't do her any good drinking without having something to balance it out with.

Tentatively, Miri peered through the glass panes in the door – but there was no sign of either Obadiah or Seneca. She guessed that they must have ventured onto the balcony to talk. Glancing around to make sure everyone else was occupied, Miri put the last of the cheese and cracker snack in her mouth and quietly opened the door, slipping inside before closing it quickly so that neither of her relatives would hear the snatches of conversation and realise someone was intruding.

"…just like her mother." Obadiah's tone was distasteful as Miri approached stealthily, taking care that she didn't take down any chairs on her way over to eavesdrop. "She is deliberately rebellious, and finds amusement in behaving like some kind of wild party-girl. There is very little of yourself in the girl."

"I've tried." Seneca sounded tired, and Miri suddenly realised that they were talking about her. She felt a surge of guilty. She didn't mean to cause such trouble for her dad, especially when he wasn't the one treating her with disdain. It was her grandfather she was alright with displeasing. "She's curious, Dad. She wants to know where pictures of her mother are. Perhaps it's time we opened up about it."

"No." Obadiah's tone was firm. Miri leaned forward slightly so that she could see them. Seneca was gripping the ledge with both hands, leaning forward with his head bowed. "Seneca, the girl cannot know. Why else do you think we've kept it from her all these years? If she finds out…"

What she was not meant to find out, Miri didn't get to find out, for she took a step back and collided with a chair. She fell heavily, her champagne glass rolling across the floor. The noise made both Obadiah and Seneca turn, and Miri braced herself, surmising that she was in a lot of trouble.

"Miri? What are you doing in here?" Seneca swept inside, setting the champagne glass on the mahogany table before helping his daughter to her feet. "Are you drunk?"

Perhaps she was a bit. Miri felt things spinning. Although she could still make sense of the world, things seemed sluggishly slow. She clutched at the back of the chair, realising that now she could take advantage of Seneca's assumption by making out that she was drunker than she actually was.

"Looking for my room." Miri deliberately slurred the words. Obadiah, predictably, was looking thoroughly irritated at the interruption, although not as angry as he would have been had he known that she had stumbled in on their conversation deliberately. Seneca sighed heavily, glancing at his father before back at his daughter.

"Your rooms are the level above this one," Seneca said patiently. "Can you get there yourself, or do you need me to take you?"

Miri had shared the same rooms as her father since she had been a child, but had always begged to get her own. She had been surprised on her sixteenth birthday when Seneca had bought her own room, in the same building and only the level above. It was not uncommon for Capitolian parents to do so, giving their children space while still keeping a close eye on them. Miri shook her head fervently.

"I can go myself."

Seneca watched as his teenage daughter made her way out of the conference room. He heaved a sigh and turned back to Obadiah, who was not looking impressed. It was true that the girl was her mother's image – and seemed to have inherited a fair share of her personality as well. Obadiah's frown was terse, arms folded over his chest.

"She cannot know the truth, Seneca. What do you think would happen if she found out?"

"I don't know," Seneca admitted. He had tried to protect Miri from the truth, but she was too curious for her own good. One of these days, she would find out. It was not a question of 'if', but 'when'.

"You don't understand," Obadiah sounded frustrated. "It is not just her who would be affected. If Miri finds out about her mother…it could destroy all of us."

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The doors to the elevator opened, and Miri groaned, rubbing at the back of her neck. Perhaps she had been pretending to be drunk in front of her dad and grandfather, but she really did not feel so well. It had only been three champagnes, but they had been drunk within the space of half an hour, and she had only eaten cheese and a cracker. Miri stumbled into the elevator, pressing the button for her floor.

"Wild night?"

The male voice made her almost jump out of her skin. She hadn't realised that she wasn't alone in the elevator. She glanced at the young man who stood beside her, a somewhat forced smile spread across his features as he inspected her. He was…gorgeous. He was tall and muscular, with bronze hair and sea-green eyes. Miri knew that she recognised him, but she couldn't quite put a finger on where from. He was in his early twenties, and had Miri not been so drunk, she might have been speechless.

"Go away." She rubbed at her head, causing the young man to laugh at her misfortune. It seemed that he recognised the signs of drunkenness when he saw them. Miri leaned back against the elevator, tilting her head on the cool glass. She just wanted to be in her room, forgetting all about the conversation that Obadiah and Seneca had been having.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" The young man inspected her critically. "What are you, fifteen?"

"Sixteen," Miri snapped in response. Generally she would have been more polite towards a complete stranger, however the alcohol pumping through her system meant her tolerance of human beings in general had reached a significant low. "Not that I see how it's any of your…"

She broke off, feeling bile rising in her throat. Before Miri knew what was happening, the elevator had pinged to let her know they'd stopped at her level – and she had vomited all over the poor young man's shirt. He made a noise of disgust and stepped back, staring down at the mess on his clothes. Completely mortified, Miri staggered out of the elevator, feeling her cheeks turning an excruciating red.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

The elevator doors closed before the young man could reply. Miri sighed heavily. He was vaguely familiar, but not enough so that she had seen him often. If she was lucky, perhaps she would never see him again and the incident would never have to be brought to light. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and cringing at the mere thought of what had just happened, Miri swiped her card and stepped into her room. Hopefully tomorrow morning she would have forgotten all about what had happened.

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"That's it, get it all out of your system."

Seneca Crane felt more like a nurse than a Head Gamemaker as he rubbed his daughter's back. Miri was throwing up into the toilet, her blonde hair tied onto a bun on top of her head for the sake of convenience. Seneca wasn't generally what one would call a doting parent, but he understood hangovers all too well. Miri was slender and 5'2, so it made sense that even drinking a few champagnes was enough to get her in such a state.

"All done?" Seneca questioned tentatively. He loved his daughter, he really did, but he was not keen to get vomit on his new suit. He was dressed for work already, as the Reapings were only in a week's time. He needed to have everything prepared. Since his instatement as Head Gamemaker, Seneca had been working night and day on the arena and other aspects of the upcoming 72nd Hunger Games. Yet there were still some loose ends to be tied up.

"I think so." Miri's voice was hoarse as she flushed the toilet, splashing her face with water from the sink and inspecting her reflection. Although naturally pale, she looked white as a sheet. She turned to glance at her dad, who had his arms folded over his chest. There was a stern look on his face, like he was trying to emulate Obadiah.

"You shouldn't have had so much to drink."

Miri rolled her eyes. "I couldn't help it. I'm sorry, but your social events are _dull_."

Seneca stroked a hand over his immaculate beard. He knew that it couldn't be easy for a girl of Miri's age, a girl who wanted to go out and party rather than being forced to attend stifling functions. But he was the head Gamemaker now, and he needed to make a good impression. Attention wouldn't only be focused on him, but also on his daughter. Knowing that Miri was a natural mischief-maker made Seneca all the more determined to pull her in line. If he was seen as a father who let his daughter run wild…well, it wouldn't look good at all.

"Do you know what this promotion means for us?" Seneca asked, washing as she brushed her teeth.

Miri shrugged. "More money."

"Yes, I suppose that's one advantage," Seneca mused, leaning against the bathroom wall. "But I'm not talking money, darling. I'm talking _prestige. _Your grandfather Obadiah made a name for himself before his retirement after the 65th Hunger Games. We can't just expect to live on his good name alone. My promotion means that both you and I will be the most talked about people in Panem. We will go to all the most important functions, mingle with powerful people…sweetheart, you might even get a wealthy boyfriend."

Miri scowled at that. "I don't date, Dad."

"Well, when you do." Seneca waved a dismissive hand. "What I'm saying is that we'll be part of Panem's elite. President Snow's inner circle."

Miri liked the sound of that, even if she knew she wouldn't like all of the people. Caesar Flickerman's daughter Ithaca was a complete and utter bore who only ever talked about fashion and boys, and rumour had it that his son Cobryn was a vain young man. She would much prefer to associate with people her age who she _chose_ to be around, however she understood that she would need to make sacrifices to help her dad. Seneca had raised her to the best of his ability, despite her often troublesome, attention-seeking ways.

"Wait, Dad." Miri frowned, two ideas colliding in her mind. "Who won the 65th Hunger Games again?"

"Finnick Odair," Seneca said, shaking his head slowly as if despairing of her. How could his daughter forget the most handsome man in Panem? At his words, Miri groaned and pressed her hands over her face and he frowned slightly. "What's wrong?"

"Does he have bronze hair and green eyes?"

"Yes, why?" Seneca was at a loss as to why his daughter was asking him such questions. Although it was true that Miri wasn't as boy-crazy as many other girls her age, he would have thought that even she would remember the Victor from Obadiah's last year as Head Gamemaker.

"I vomited on him in the elevator last night," Miri practically wailed.

Seneca could not help but wince. It was true that his daughter knew very few Victors personally, but when they discovered that Seneca was Head Gamemaker – well, every Victor would suddenly want to be Miri's best friend, out of pure selfish desire to help their tributes win the Games. It sounded as though Miri had not made a good first impression on Finnick, which was a shame considering that Finnick was a Career Victor and perhaps the most popular among the Capitolians.

"You know what Finnick Odair does, don't you?" Seneca questioned, his tone becoming rather stern. He did not want his daughter to become enamoured with the young Victor and end up losing…something valuable.

"Of course." Miri rolled her eyes. "He's a courtesan, isn't he?"

"And you are not going to use your money to…"

"Dad!" Miri was absolutely appalled. Yes, Finnick was an attractive man – well, from what she remembered – but that didn't mean she was going to stoop so low as to _buy_ him. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. In any case, she was still a virgin, and she was not going to pay a man to take that away from her. "What do you think I am, desperate?"

"I think you are a teenage girl with hormones," Seneca replied calmly. He had been a teenager once, knew what it was like to lust shamelessly after members of the opposite sex. Yet he did not want Finnick, or any other Victors for that matter, to go near his daughter if they were looking for _that._ "Do we need to have a talk?"

"Not _the_ talk," Miri groaned, drying her face with a towel and glaring over it at her dad. "I know about all of that, I'm not interested in it, alright? Can we just keep the discussion that brief?"

"Alright," Seneca relented, not really wanting to get into the gritty details with his daughter anyway. He had a lot of things to focus on within the next few weeks, and his teenage daughter's love life or lack thereof was not one of them.

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**Sorry for the repost, if you already got an email alert that's because my fanfic is being weird and wasn't sending out email alerts to my readers :( Has anyone else been getting this problem?**


	3. Tributes

**Chapter Three: Tributes**

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**A/N: Wow, I am so amazed to the response at this story so far! I never expected so many people would be interested in Miri's story, and I'm so happy that you guys are. **

**I've even made a teaser for the series - you can find a link to my YouTube on my profile :)**

**In fact, if you guys somehow manage the amazing feat of getting me up to 50 reviews this chapter, you can even help me choose an arena for the 72nd Hunger Games! How does that sound?**

**Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one will see more Miri/Finnick interaction, and Miri will make a new friend ;) **

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It was the time of year that all Capitolians got excited about, and Miri had to admit that she was no exception. The Reaping for the 72nd Hunger Games would take place tomorrow, during which a flurry of early bets begin. It was odd to her, that people could place bets based on the ages, appearances and districts of the tributes who had been selected. Miri didn't bet, as Seneca didn't allow it, but she normally pinned her hopes on the Career districts. More often than not, it would be a tribute from District 1, 2 or 4 who would become the Victor – although last year had been a surprise with Johanna Mason from District 7.

However this year, everything was going to be different. Seneca knew it, and he sat his daughter down to ensure that she knew it as well. As he had now taken up the position of Head Gamemaker, everything was about to change. That included Miri's role in the Games, which would be substantial even though she didn't quite realise. As a Gamemaker's daughter, all of the Victors would be clamouring for her favour, determined to get her to sponsor their tributes.

"Many of the Victors are going to suddenly notice you this year." Seneca leaned back in his chair. He really wished that Victors wouldn't notice Miri. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, and didn't require the unwanted attention of Victors pushing for her to sponsor their tributes. Many of them would offer her favours in return, and Seneca was not sure that he wanted to know what sort of favours these would be.

"I doubt that." Miri was too focused on her mobile, too busy texting one of her friends most likely – but this was a serious conversation. Seneca reached forward and plucked the shiny silver device out of his daughter's hands, causing her to scowl. "What, Dad? I'm listening, okay?"

"You are now," Seneca said with satisfaction, watching as Miri folded her arms and scowled. "Now. The Victors often look for people to sponsor their tributes. Many of them would go to drastic measures to earn these sponsors. I am the Head Gamemaker and you are my daughter. Do you understand what I mean?"

Miri nodded slowly. Her father was saying that many of the Victors would pressure her to sponsor them, because she would have huge influence in her current position. Somehow, that didn't sit quite right with her. Wouldn't it be sort of cheating, for her to sponsor any tributes? Of course Seneca had no say over any of her sponsor gifts, over nothing except her allowance which she would likely use to sponsor if she so chose. But Miri thought that it might be influencing the Games in the wrong kind of way.

"That's not cheating, is it?" she asked uncertainly.

Seneca laughed mirthfully. "Of course not, darling. It's…let's say it's shaping the Games into what you want them to be. If a tribute receives sponsor gifts, they have a better chance of survival. You remember the trident that won Finnick Odair his Games?"

Personally, Miri had always thought that Finnick Odair's beauty and talent had won him the Games, but now she was forced to reconsider her opinion. The trident had been a wonderful sponsor gift certainly, and she found herself curious as to who had provided Finnick with it. They must have been a very big fan indeed if they were willing to risk that much, to put that much money towards something.

"So what do I do?"

"Let them stew for a while." Seneca stroked his immaculate beard in contemplation. Miri watched keenly, eager for her father's advice. "Think over which tribute you want to survive. Only then make your choice, and privately. As daughter of the Head Gamemaker, you can't afford to be seen showing favouritism."

_Well, that defeats the purpose of sponsoring, _Miri thought dryly, but she said nothing. She had to admit that she was rather excited at the prospect of actually getting to know Victors. She would have to try and steer clear of Finnick Odair, of course. Miri couldn't see herself associating with a man she had thrown up on, it just seemed far too embarrassing. Her cheeks flamed red at the memory of the occasion, but she disguised it by brushing her blonde hair into her face.

It must have been difficult for Seneca, Miri thought as she noticed the weariness in her father's bright blue eyes, so like her own. He had been twenty years old when she had been born, not painfully young, but young enough that raising a child with only the help of Obadiah would have been hard for him. Not to mention that the child was girl, and so it had come down to Seneca to, with excruciating embarrassment, teach Miri about what to expect in her teenage years. She trusted him with everything – and why shouldn't she? He was, after all, her father.

"I'll see tomorrow, and during their training." Miri clambered to her feet. It was probably best to decide on who she was going to sponsor only after the Games had begun. She didn't want to stick with someone who would only die in the bloodbath, after all. The Victors could all come begging, but Miri wouldn't sponsor any of them until the Games. It made her feel powerful, knowing she would have them all like puppets on a string. It also made her feel guilty for having that power, for reasons she couldn't explain.

"Get some sleep." Seneca rose and kissed the top of her head. "Tomorrow's going to be a very exciting day."

* * *

It was the same as any other year, with Miri sitting in front of the plasma television screen along with the rest of her friends, who were giggling and whispering. Miri was taking herself far too seriously, determined to behave maturely as if that would make her seem somehow more important. With the other girls admired the latest fashions in magazines and gossiped, Miri was solely focused on the television screen. The Reapings had concluded in the districts, and therefore the recap would soon play, showing them all the tributes who would be competing in this year's Games.

When the Capitol seal appeared on screen, Lilah began shushing everyone and Miri leaned forward, watching in anticipation. Of course she was interested in see the tributes every year, but this year she needed to pay close attention. One of these teenagers might be the person she chose to sponsor. Setting aside her berry ice tea – which Giorgia had brought for them all, claiming it was full of natural health benefits – Miri rested her chin on her arm and started to make note.

Both from District 1 were unsurprisingly attractive. The girl's hair was like a sheet of pale silver it was so light, her skin white as ivory. She was tall and thin, but had to be at least seventeen years old. The boy was around the same age, attractive in a burly, roguish sort of way. Miri was sure she would learn their names later, but now, they were just the tributes of District 1.

District 2 were impressive, but in a different way. The boy – more of a man, really – was at least 6'5. He looked like he could snap even the stronger tributes in half. His partner, in contrast, was small and mousy-looking, but there was no doubt in Miri's mind that she was fast and agile. A formidable pair if ever she'd seen one.

District 3 normally didn't catch Miri's eye, but this year it was the girl's hair, like burnt copper, that held her attention. She was small and fairly young, perhaps fifteen years old. But it was something about that nervous smile compared with the powerful auras of the tributes of 1 and 2 that caused Miri to really notice her. District 3 weren't a Career district, but their tributes were often very tech-savvy.

The rest of the Reapings went by with little distinction. Miri of course took note of the District 4 pair, for the simple fact that they were Careers, but then she remembered that she had thrown up on Finnick Odair and found herself squirming with embarrassment once again. Occasionally Miri's friends would comment, usually on a male tribute they thought to be good-looking. After the tributes from District 12 have been presented, Lilah took the remote and flicked the television off.

"So? What do you think?" She was addressing all of her friends, but it was obvious that the questions were really directed at Miri. The blonde girl noticed that all attention had turned her way and she suddenly felt the heat of the spotlight. Raking back her hair, Miri took another sip of her berry ice tea.

"I think we'll have to wait until we actually see them to judge."

Miri knew that she needed to make a more informed decision than mere faces on a television screen. Some of the tributes she thought looked formidable, but it might be a completely different story in reality. Her friends were somewhat disappointed by her verdict, as if they had been expecting her to single out one of them. Giorgia pursed her lips and tossed back her unruly brown curls.

"Oh. Well, I like the boy from District 1. I think he's cute."

"You can't tell a Victor based on looks," Lilah said rather contemptuously, causing Giorgia to lapse into silence. Miri was more concerned with knowing that the tributes and their mentors would be arriving in the afternoon – meaning she would have to see Finnick Odair, in all his glory, knowing that she had vomited on him. She buried her face in the velvet cushion with a groan.

* * *

Finnick Odair was well aware that it was on the chariots he had first caught Panem's attention, as a fourteen-year-old with a charming smile and dazzling good looks. However considering the two tributes he was dealing with this year, unfortunately he didn't think that the same could be said of them. Zachary was a boy of sixteen with shark-like, sharp features. He had a perpetual look of sullenness about his face that Finnick doubted any girl in the Capitol would find attractive. Valkyrie wasn't too much better – a slightly pudgy girl with seemingly more freckles than grains of sand on the beaches of District 4.

They were a nice enough pair. Finnick could not fault them that. However they were not spectacular enough to become noticed in the chariot rides at first glance, not unless their prep teams and stylists were _extremely_ good. So he paced the lowest level of the Training Centre hoping that some sort of magic could be worked on them to make them at least appear worthwhile.

The other mentors were, of course, either waiting for their tributes or fussing over them. They weren't the only ones – there were several Capitolians wandering through the place, clearly taking note. Finnick frowned when he caught sight of a small blonde girl who, although obviously Capitolian, looked far too young to be getting herself involved in any bets on the tributes. When she turned, he recognised her immediately, with a slight grimace. It was that drunk girl who had thrown up on him in the elevator when he'd been in the Capitol on business only a few weeks ago. Fantastic.

"Do you think you can keep your food down this time?" Finnick called, unable to resist teasing. A grin spread across his handsome features as the girl faced him, obviously startled. Her fair complexion turned a bright shade of red at his comment, and she glanced around before heading towards him. Finnick folded his arms and looked down at her, literally. She really was small, close to a foot shorter than him.

"Excuse me?" The blonde girl was frowning. She had the sort of arrogant air about her that suggested she thought he should know who she was. The problem was that he didn't. She was sixteen years old, as she had firmly assured him when he had guessed her age to be younger. The blonde planted her hands on her hips, her gaze accusatory.

"I said, I don't remember you telling me your name." Finnick arched his eyebrows. "I think you owe it to me considering the little spectacle upon our first meeting, don't you agree?"

"Mirinda." The blonde offered no last name, and Finnick was left to wonder when it became a Capitolian trend for teenagers to bet on tributes. He had no doubt that the only reason she was down here was to study them all for herself. She glanced around as Zachary and Valkyrie headed over, neither of them looking pleased. It was not hard to see why – Valkyrie was dressed like a chubby little starfish, and Zachary like a seahorse.

"No last name?" Finnick persisted, but he was met with a guarded smile from the blonde.

"You asked for a name. I gave you one. Just one." Miri's gaze landed upon the two sullen teenagers before her, both of them her own age. "These must be your tributes."

"Zachary and Valkyrie." Finnick gestured to them in turn. Both of them looked suspicious, and Miri's strained smile faltered somewhat. To these teenagers, Capitolians were alien. They were bright colours and ridiculous hairstyles, and this girl with brightly coloured feathers in her hair and bright blue go-go boots was no exception.

"I should probably go." Miri's tone was rather abrupt, and Finnick wondered if it was because of his tributes' silent hostility. "Umm, good luck with the chariots."

Finnick watched, rather puzzled, as the blonde walked away, hovering near District 2. He doubted Brutus and Enobaria would be as welcoming to her probing their tributes. Many Capitolians were an enigma to Finnick, but most in a bizarre way, one that made him happy he didn't know what was going on inside their twisted minds. This girl was still a Capitolian, clearly wealthy, but she was young. She was vulnerable to manipulation. So, Finnick surmised, he would use that vulnerability to his advantage…and the advantage of his tributes.

* * *

"How did you find the chariots, darling?" Seneca wandered into his apartment, unsurprised to find Miri flopped on the couch and scrolling through the list of tributes in this year's Hunger Games. As an only child, Miri had a tendency to get very lonely. Therefore she would often spend time with either her friends, or her father. The only time she was alone in her own apartment room was when she was going to sleep. Miri looked up from the list, brushing her blonde hair from her eyes.

"It was wonderful. The costumes were spectacular."

Seeing Finnick again had been inevitable, although admittedly Miri's recollection of their first meeting was somewhat hazy. He had been teasing towards her, and so she had remained stoically enigmatic in return. She wasn't yet ready to tell any of the Victors that she was Seneca Crane's daughter, although some of the older ones would surely know. It made little difference really, but it was the thought of keeping her identity a secret from Finnick that made it seem more fun.

"Have you made any new friends yet?"

Miri shook her head. "No."

"You will." Seneca ventured into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine, red as blood. He was on edge so often during the day that having some alcohol in his system was a welcome form of relaxation. He offered some to Miri, unable to suppress a slight smile as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Her last encounter with alcohol had ended up with her vomiting on a Victor. "Training for the tributes starts tomorrow."

Miri nodded, knowing that it would be something she would need to keep a careful ear out for. The training would be televised like the rest of the Games, however it was important for her to find out what the potential weaknesses of the tributes were. It wouldn't be any good considering sponsoring a tribute that could turn out to become a complete loss in the Games themselves. But what if she decided that she didn't want to sponsor anyone?

"Do I have to sponsor?"

"Of course not, Miri." Seneca looked affronted that she would even ask such a question, crossing one leg over the other and taking another deep sip of wine. "After all, your grandfather is already keeping his options open. We already have a family member as a potential sponsor. You don't _have_ to do anything."

The knowledge that Obadiah might sponsor only drove Miri's determination. Knowing her grandfather, he would put his money on a tribute that would succeed. Probably a Career. Miri knew that she didn't have to sponsor. She didn't have to befriend Victors, or tributes. But some part of her wanted to become more involved in the Games, as Seneca himself was. Nothing was set in stone, but Miri's curiosity had a habit of drawing her into situations she was better off staying away from.


End file.
